


Just One Of Those Days

by jinx37kat



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-03-02
Updated: 1999-03-02
Packaged: 2018-04-25 15:25:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4966195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinx37kat/pseuds/jinx37kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crappy day in the life of a sentinel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just One Of Those Days

The alarm went off at 6:30am exactly, blasting a local rock and roll station at top volume. At least it seemed it was turned up to top volume. Stretching out an arm from under the comforter, Jim punched the snooze button and groaned.

 

_Yet another day in the most dangerous city in America. Yay._

 

Rolling over, Jim slid from the bed and headed downstairs, determined that he would get the first shower this morning. He was two feet from the entrance to the bathroom when a flesh-colored blur rushed by him and slammed the bathroom door in his face.

 

Jim closed his eyes and leaned his head against the door, sighing.

 

 

Jim dropped Blair off at the university and drove to the station. About three miles from work; he felt and heard a 'pop'. The truck skidded a bit before he was able to get it under control, coming to rest against the curb. Horns blared behind him as he got out. He gave them a cursory glance before moving around to the back of the truck. The back tire had a hole completely blown out.

 

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the bed of the truck, sighing.

 

 

An hour later, the truck, with a brand new steel belted tire, turned into the precinct garage. Ellison was about to pull into the last vacant spot he saw when a blue, grey, and yellow police car screeched in front of him and took the space. He slammed on the brakes to keep from hitting the police car and smacked his head on the steering wheel.

 

Not even having the energy to be angry, he rubbed his head and watched as Johnson and Davis got out of the car. Johnson, the rookie and driver, laughed as he shrugged his shoulders at Jim, then turned to walk into the building. Davis, his partner, mouthed an apology and followed his partner through the door.

 

Closing his eyes, Jim leaned his head against the steering wheel, sighing.

 

 

He sat at his desk, tapping in information for the report on his last case. The case had been a bad one. Like there are any GOOD ones in Major Crime? Waitresses all around the city were turning up dead, and the police were not having any luck finding the murderer. It took another three days, most of those nights sleepless, and several headaches before the team of Ellison and Sandburg were able to come up with anything. Finally, Ellison was able to isolate the smell, which caused his headaches when he was in the drug store. A woman in the cosmetics department was trying out a hair spray and Jim ended up walking through the mist. It was the same smell that was causing his headaches at every crime scene. Soon after, Jim and Blair found the killer. She was a waitress herself who had been fired from every bar where a murder occurred. She was taking out her anger on the establishment by killing, not her replacement, but the one she felt turned her in and caused her to be fired.

 

Finally finishing his report, Jim 'CTRL S' his computer and the screen froze.

 

He waited another minute and still nothing. He was about to reload the computer, knowing that he would only lose the last half page of the report if he did so because the computer auto-saved every minute or so, when the computer screen went blank. He pushed the power button off then back on and waited.

 

After the computer finished loading, Jim opened the report only to have a blank screen stare back at him.

 

Nothing.

 

There was nothing left of his report.

 

Checking other reports that he left on his computer for back up, he found those missing as well. Although thankful that those 'other' reports were saved to disk, he realized that the one report that he had spent the entire day writing was gone. Looking at the clock, he realized that his lunch hour was shot, as was getting home at a decent hour.

 

He closed his eyes and lay his head down on his desk, sighing.

 

 

It was 6:30pm exactly and half of Major Crime had gone home. The few that were left were either tying up loose ends or getting ready to leave. For Jim, however, he was only half way done with the erased report. He didn't have the luxury to go home and leave it for the next day. Simon said he wanted it on his desk when he got in in the morning, which meant that Jim had to stay and finish the report no matter how long it took.

 

Two hours later, the report was being printed up. Jim had not only save the report to disk, but had e-mailed it to Simon, the DA, Records, and to Blair's laptop, making sure that he was NOT going to lose the damned thing again.

 

He rose from his chair, feeling as though his butt was permanently flat from sitting all day. He stretched out the kinks, twisting and turning, flexing every sore muscle he had. When the printer finished printing, Jim walked over to retrieve his report. Eight blank pages stared back at him. Flipping the panel door to the printer up, he saw that the print cartridge was missing. Whoever used the printer last did not replace the cartridge.

 

He leaned again the closest door jam and closed his eyes, sighing.

 

 

9:17pm finally saw Jim Ellison leaving for the night. He had spent twenty minutes searching for a replacement cartridge only to find several at the bottom of Blair's desk. 

 

Wearily, he turned the lights off in the bullpen and made his way to the elevator, pushing the 'down' button. The doors opened immediately, which he was eternally grateful, and stepped inside. He was dead tired and couldn't wait to get home and slide into bed next to Blair. 

 

He watched as the lights in the elevator counted down the floors. Just before reaching the garage level, the elevator lurched and stopped, lights inside going out. 

 

Calmly reaching inside his jacket, Jim pulled out his cell phone and called Simon. Who, in turn, told him that he would have building maintenance over there as soon as possible. Forty minutes later, his cell phone rang. It was the maintenance people informing him that there would be a delay in fixing the elevator, but he would be out in a few hours.

 

Sliding down the wall, Jim rested his head back against the side of the elevator and closed his eyes, sighing.

 

 

It had been more than a few hours. Jim returned to the loft just after 1:00am.

 

Turning off the engine, Jim slowly got out and trudged to the door of the building. Forgoing the elevator to the third floor, with good reason, he staggered up the stairs and managed to make it to the door of 307.

 

He stood in front of the door just staring at the numbers.

 

What a day. To quote his lover, “It was like, a totally, NOT funny day.”

 

Jim unlocked the door and moved inside. Shutting and locking the door behind him, he hung up his jacket, threw his keys in the basket and started for the stairs.

 

At the top of the stairs, Jim stared at his bed. Blair lay star-fished in the middle of the bed. There wasn't an inch of space available.

 

Closing his eyes, Jim started for the closet, intending to take out a blanket or two and sleep on the couch. He was too tired to fight his lover for bed space. He was about to descend the stairs, when he heard, "Don't you dare."

 

He turned around to see Blair, now on his side of the bed, holding the covers up in invitation.

 

Smiling weakly, Jim undressed and slid in next to his mate. Blair wrapped his arms around the exhausted sentinel.

 

For the first time that day, Jim closed his eyes and sighed...

 

...in contentment.

 

 

finis

3/2/99


End file.
